Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2)(66)

"She's pretty advanced for her age," I remarked.

"Very. She's blabbing all the time, too. Maybe it's my bias-ass, but I think she's special. So special." He shook his head, frowning. "Too special to be discarded like this by her mom."

"What are you gonna do, bro?"

He stared at me through the rim of his glass while taking a sip, his silence tipping me off that he already had an idea. Putting his glass down, he clucked his tongue. "My parents have a new house here in Todos Santos. Chicago is big and cruel, and I work an insane amount of hours." He stared at me, long and hard, and I instantly knew what he was asking for. I tapped my lips with my laced fingers.

"Let's talk shop."

"This is my so-called life." Trent gestured with his ripped arms, stealing another glance at Luna, who was still opening and closing the same double door with a devotion better saved for finding the cure to cancer. "It's a Mess with a capital M, and my daughter is in the middle of the shitshow, dragged through the mud and filth, the consequences of her parents' bad decisions ruining her life. This stops here. She needs stability."

"What are you proposing, exactly?" I cracked my neck, looking him dead in the eye. Fiscal Heights Holdings' headquarters was in New York, and I ran it. Smoothly, if I may say so myself. I was the dedicated bachelor, and I put down the hours. Vicious was working in L.A. and commuting from Todos Santos every day. He wouldn't leave California for the world. This was where he was born, and this was where he would die. Jaime was in London, handling our European accounts, and Trent was in Chicago, our newest and smallest branch. But it was expanding, fast. There was money to be made, and money talked. It fucking screamed, especially to people like us. 

"Vicious should take Chicago." Trent stared at me with a death glare.

I smiled. "Vicious should do a lot of things. That gap between what he should do and what he actually does? That's where he thrives." I wasn't joking.

"You need to back me up when I bring this up at our next meeting." He held my gaze firmly, his jaw ticking. I tugged at my lower lip.

"You need more than my vote to make it happen."

"Jaime's in, too."

"Jaime is going against Vicious?" My eyebrows jumped up. Jaime always took his side, even when it was time to call Vic on his bullshit.

Looking at Trent, I saw someone I was willing to fight for. Hard. The guy to always do the right thing. If someone deserved to catch a break out of the four of us, it was him. I nodded, placing a hand on top of Luna's little head.

Protect the strays. Atone your past. Break the fucking cycle.

"When?" I asked.

"November sounds good. Thanksgiving and all. We're all going to be here anyway."

I nodded. "Let's get you back in Cali."

We bumped shoulders and clapped backs. "Fuck yeah."





What makes you feel alive?

Dean. Dean Cole makes me feel alive.



THE REST OF OUR VEGAS escapade dragged, despite my best efforts. I took the girls to the Mob Museum, a barbeque restaurant (my first choice was sushi, but as much as I was mad at my sister, taunting her was not high on my to-do list), and to a spa. Millie and I exchanged a total of twenty words the whole trip and shared nervous silence whenever we were alone. I was curt, polite, and distant. She was miserable, worried, and troubled.

Then there was the guilt. It ate at my insides like a growing tumor. I wasn't even sure which part was worse. The part where I slept with her ex-boyfriend-there was no denying at this point that Dean and I were more than sleeping together, and that was an issue, too-or the part where I didn't partake in the cooing-fest Gladys, Sydney, and Elle threw when it came to my sister.

On Thursday, we boarded a plane back home, and even though I dreaded meeting my parents, relief washed over me. The minute we got back to the mansion, I entered my room, collapsing onto the four-poster bed. Exhausted didn't begin to cover what I was feeling. My lungs screamed in agony from all the dancing, walking around, and … well, let's just say that having sex on cold tiles wasn't the best idea I'd ever had. I practically felt the mucus covering my airways. And while I needed to book an appointment to see Dr. Hasting as soon as possible, I couldn't leave here before the wedding.

As I rolled to the side of the bed to text Elle and ask how her flight to New York went (she had to skip the wedding for a family event), my older sister threw my door open and dashed in like a storm.

"We need to talk."

I turned around, sprawled on a throne of puffy, colorful pillows, and the hurricane in her eyes calmed once she saw my wet cheeks and red eyes. Her face twisted in worry. That was Millie for you. Even when I acted like a brat at her bachelorette party, she still melted under my cold flesh.